Roberson, Jennifer - Cheysuli 07 (75 page)

 
          
"Oh,
aye. I know what I'm doing, I'm thinking."

 
          
The
lilt did not touch the Hunter. "Do you do it willingly, or merely because
it seems the easiest thing?"

 
          
Aidan
laughed. "Are we not done with testing
yet
?"
He shook his head, gripping the ring in his palm. "Are you finally asking
me the questions I wanted you to ask? Now will you give me my answers?"

 
          
"Answer
me
, Aidan."

 
          
Quelled
for the moment, Aidan nodded. He wet his lips. "I surrender my rank and
title willingly, knowing what I do."

 
          
"To
what benefit?"

 
          
"To
benefit the prophecy," Aidan answered firmly. "Which I have always
served, unknowing; and continue to serve, now
knowing
."

 
          
"You
remove yourself from the succession of Homana."

 
          
"Aye.
Willingly."

 
          
"I
repeat: to what benefit?"

 
          
Aidan
smiled, tucking the ring into his belt-pouch and tugging on his glove again.
"There was a chain, god of dreams, that once was broken in my hands, and
later rejoined. I believed the dreams ended and the task performed, as was
intended. But as I stood before Lochiel, I realized that was not true. The
joining of the chain, while not precisely
wrong
,
was not the desired end."

 
          
He
recalled Shaine, Carillon, Donal; Ashra, Tye, Siglyn. All who had aided him in
his decision, though he had not known it then.

 
          
The
Hunter's voice was soft. "What was the desired end?"

 
          
"
To break it
." Aidan's attention
returned. "The chain was meant to be broken—and by me—to improve the next
link." He gazed down between the folds of his cloak on the bundle that was
his son. "To provide
this
link
with the strength he requires to complete the prophecy."

 
          
The
god stirred upon his rock. "What else, Aidan?"

 
          
He
considered it. The answer came easily. "Chained warrior," he said
distantly. "Chained prince; chained raven. Bound, the life goes on.
Broken, it is free." He gazed directly at the Hunter. "The chain is
broken; the decision made. I wish to go free."

 
          
The
Hunter's face was expressionless. "Freedom carries its own weight of
responsibilities."

 
          
"I
know that." And suddenly Aidan was laughing with the unhindered joy of
realization. The sound rang in the rocks; he let the laughter go out of sheer
exuberance and acknowledgment of the truth. He felt so
free
at last. For the first time in his life.

 
          
When
the laughter died, he grinned at the god. '"Lochiel has lost after
all."

 
          
The
Hunter smiled faintly. "What will you do?"

 
          
Aidan's
answer was prompt. "Take my son to Homana-Mujhar and give him over to his
tahlmorra
. Mine lies elsewhere."

 
          
"Ah.
Then you have realized you did
not
break it in Valgaard."

 
          
"Oh,
no." Aidan shrugged. "I learned what it
was
, instead."

 
          
The
Hunter nodded. "What of
you
,
Aidan, when your son is made the heir?"

 
          
He
looked down on the bundled child. "The Lion Throne was never meant for me.
Gisella was right when she said I would be a throneless Mujhar and a crownless
king." He smiled, recalling his fear. "I think I am bound for another
realm and another lion… for an island floating on the breath of the gods, where
lies a fallen altar and a deserted chapel. I think my task is to make it whole
again, restoring it to its original purpose so that it may serve Cheysuli in
need once more."

 
          
"They
will call you priest," the Hunter warned. "Half-man. Shadow-man.
Warrior without a heart." He paused. "Even coward and castrate."

 
          
For
a moment only, it pinched. Then fell away into dust, as all desire had. He was
content within himself; with the knowledge of what he was.

 
          
"Perhaps
the Homanans will," Aidan agreed. "It is their nature to disparage
what they cannot understand. As for the others—" he shrugged "—it
makes little difference. It is time to bring light to the land again, to chase
away the dark." He smiled dreamily, gloriously tired. "Names do not
matter. And the Cheysuli will call me something else entirely."

 
          
"What
is that, Aidan?"

 
          
"
Shar tahl
." He grinned briefly.
"Like Burr, only worse—I will teach them things they do not want to hear.
I will untwist all the twists. I will show them there are new ways to be
honored as deeply as the old." The smile fell away. "And I will
prophesy."

 
          
"For
whom?"

 
          
Aidan's
breath was a plume. "Cynric."

 
          
"Who
is Cynric?"

 
          
"Child
of the prophecy. The sword and the bow and the knife. The Firstborn, come
again."

 
          
The
Hunter gestured. "Is that Cynric?"

 
          
Aidan
glanced in surprise at the child in his arms. "This one? No. This is
Kellin. Prince of Homana. The next link." He looked at the god.
"Cynric comes later. Cynric comes after. Cynric is the beginning of a new
chain."

 
          
"And
who are
you
?"

 
          
He
knew the answer, now. "Aidan," he said. "Just—Aidan."

 
          
The
Hunter smiled. And then he rose, stepping off the rock.

 
          
Aidan
stood up hastily, cradling the infant who would one day rule Homana. "Is
there nothing else?"

 
          
"What
else is there?" asked the god. "You have discovered your
tahlmorra
, and accepted. That is all
that exists for any warrior." Briefly he put his hand against the lump of
Kellin's head beneath the cloak. "Guard him well,
shar tahl
. He has yet to learn what sort of
tahlmorra
lies before
him
."

 
          
Aidan,
overcome, nodded mutely.

 
          
The
Hunter smiled. His eyes were very warm as he put his other hand on Aidan's
head. "Safe flight, my raven. You are everything we hoped."

 
          
And
Aidan was alone, save for his son.

 
          
Carefully,
he peeled back the hooded wrappings shielding the tiny face. The Hunter had
left the season warm; he did not fear the cold. In the bright sun of a summer
day, Aidan looked upon his son. He touched the delicate forehead, traced the line
of the brow, fingered the wispy black hair.

 
          
And
smiled in a sorrowful wonder. "We made this," he murmured. "The
bright, bold lass and I."

 
          
In
her son, Shona lived on.

 
          
Aidan
nodded tightly.
Better to have something
…
Abruptly, he banished it. Kellin was more than something.

 
          
He
inhaled deeply and blew out a streamer of breath. There was nothing left but to
go.

 
          
Aidan
mounted his horse with great care and arranged Kellin more comfortably in his
arms. For now the baby slept; he could not hope for it all the way.

 
          
Or
could
he? Did he not converse with
gods?

 
          
Laughing,
Aidan glanced up at the thick-leafed tree on which Teel perched. And then the
laughter stilled. "Have you always known?"

 
          
The
silence between them was loud.

 
          
"Have
you?" Aidan repeated. "The
lir
,
you have always maintained, are privy to many things."

 
          
Teel
offered no answer for a very long time. Then the raven stirred.
Including all the pain. All the fear
.
The tone, unexpectedly, altered from tart gibe to tenderness.
It was necessary
.

 
          
"What
was necessary?"

 
          
Obliqueness
, Teel answered.
Obscurity of a purpose: to make you angry.
To make you fight something, even a contentious lir
.

 
          
"Because
otherwise I might have given in." Aidan nodded. "Otherwise I might
have broken. The anger was a focus…"

 
          
Teel
fluffed black wings.
A warrior who walks
with dead men and converses with the gods does not have an easy road. I was
meant to make you take it
.

 
          
"
Make
me?"

 
          
Teel
reconsidered.
To
suggest
you take the road, with whatever means I had
.

 
          
Aidan
considered that. After a moment he nodded. "Do not change,
lir
. I am used to contentiousness."

 
          
I had not thought to change. Why surrender
preeminence?

 
          
Aidan
laughed. The child in his arms squirmed, then settled once again.

 
          
He
gathered reins and turned the horse southward. "Ah, well, what does it
matter? The Wheel of Life has turned."

 
          
He
guided the horse one-handed, cradling Kellin with the other. "And the
hounds will like the island."

 
          
The
raven lifted and flew. Southward, toward Mujhara. Southward, toward an island
where the standing stones lay fallen, waiting for the
shar tahl
to set them upright again.

 
          
«
^

 
          
Asar-Suti
(ah-SAHR soo-TEE)—(
proper name)
: god of the netherworld.

 
          
a'saii
(uh-SIGH)—Cheysuli zealots
dedicated to pure line of descent.

 
          
bu'lasa
(boo-LAH-sa)—grandson

 
          
bu'sala
(bu-SAH-la)—foster-son

 
          
cheysu
(chay-SOO)—man/woman; neuter;
used within phrases.

 
          
cheysul
(chay-SOOL)—husband

 
          
cheysula
(chay-SOO-la)—wife

 
          
Cheysuli
(Chay-SOO-lee)—
(literal translation)
: children of the
gods.